Enjoy these poems by Kobus Moolman
CAVERSHAM
Three ghosts of trees
swim on a hillside
in the mist. Left behind
the light of the moon
shines a snail’s trail –
The invisible river
prints its stencil of sound
large across blank air –
Three ghosts of trees
wait for hanging
three messages upon
REFLECTION
Now that my mouth is closed
I start to see things I had not seen before:
a fragment of a red feather on the ground,
a round Zulu hut on a hillside,
the scalloped small teeth of a bread knife,
the thin hand of a waving blade of grass.
Now that my mouth is closed
I start to hear things I had not heard before:
the sound of my blood being poured
from my tongue into my hand
and back again.
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